


Blue

by Robin_Fai



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Morse gets drunk, and happy endings are found, at a most inconvenient time, ties prove to be difficult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Fai/pseuds/Robin_Fai
Summary: Morse is drunk on a very important day.
Relationships: Peter Jakes/Endeavour Morse
Comments: 18
Kudos: 40





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> What do you do when you have nine works in progress? Write a brand new pointless self-indulgent fluffy one shot.

Morse was drunk. Morse was often drunk. This, however, was different. Morse hadn’t been this drunk in a very long time, and he was pretty sure he was going to pay for it long before the hangover kicked in. 

He tugged ineffectually at his too tight tie. Whatever kind of knot he’d been aiming for he’d missed by a mile and now the thing would not shift. Morse took another swig of whisky and went to pour himself another measure only to find the bottle empty. He held it up to the light as though looking for a trick of some kind. Surely he couldn’t have had _that much?_ The motion shifted his sleeve revealing his wristwatch. 

It was gone two. _Shit…_

They were going to kill him.

A loud knock sounded at the door, startling him so much he dropped the bottle. His heart stuttered as the thick glass bounced twice before rolling off under a cabinet, thankfully unbroken.

While he was staring uselessly at the point at which he had lost sight of the bottle, his front door opened revealing an irate looking Fred Thursday. 

“Morse?! What the hell – you’re not even close to being ready are you?”

“What?” Morse asked, acutely aware that there was no concealing how far gone he was.

“You were supposed to be at our place half an hour ago.” Thursday gave him a look up and down and then loudly sighed. “How much have you had to drink?”

Morse tried to think back. It had seemed like a good idea just to have a quick drink to steady his nerves when he got up. Then he’d prepped a hip flask for the day but he’d had to refill it twice (or was it three times?) Then he’d figured a celebratory drink or two while he got ready couldn’t do any harm. Then the bottle had been empty. How much had been in it to start with?

Thursday sighed and marched past him into the kitchen. He returned a couple of minutes later with a steaming mug.

“Drink this.” Thursday pressed the mug into his hands and set about working on loosening his tie. “What have you done with this?”

“Windsor?” Morse said, but it came out more as a question. Honestly he couldn’t remember how it had gotten into such a bad tangle. He took the opportunity in between Thursday’s attempts to free him from its vice like grip to try and drink the scalding hot coffee as fast as he could. 

“Fred?” Another voice called from the porch. 

Morse hoped the earth would open up and swallow him. 

Win Thursday hesitantly made her way into the room. “Fred? I was waiting in the car but when you didn’t come back I thought…” Win’s eyes settled on Morse and her mouth fixed into a grim line. “Morse, love, you’re nowhere near ready.”

“Hello Mrs Thursday” Morse ducked his head to try and hide his embarrassment. Fred made a noise of dissatisfaction at his route to the tie being cut off. 

“Win, could you come and work your magic on this? I’m all thumbs and I swear I’ve never seen such a knotted mess.”

Mrs Thursday quickly strode over and had the tie untangled in no time at all. She set to retying it and straightening his collar and shirt right after. Morse tried to object but every time he opened his mouth to tell her he could do it she would simply raise an eyebrow that erased every argumentative line he could come up with.

Fred took away the empty mug and pressed a glass of water and some tablets into his hands in its place. Morse took them without asking and downed the water. 

In no time at all the whirlwind that was the Thursdays had him set in order and as presentable and sober as it was feasible to render him given what they had to work with. Mrs Thursday sighed as she set aside the comb she’d been using to try and tame his curls. Morse wondered when someone had last done his hair for him. It was probably his mother. An unexpected wave of emotion washed over him leaving him with tears in his eyes. Mrs Thursday gave him an equally watery smile in return.

“She’d have been so proud of you.” Win said and she quickly squeezed his hands before turning and hurrying away. Morse didn’t ask her how she’d known.

Fred soon followed, hustling him our the door and into the car. 

The journey felt like it took longer than it ever had before. His eyes dragged across the imposing forms of Oxford’s architecture as though he was trying to memorise it all. As though if he blinked then it might all be gone, but the forms, the lines, the grand buildings of the city, would all be imprinted on the insides of his eyelids. Like he could etch this place into his very soul.

“Come on lad, cheer up. You look like you’re going to your execution!” Fred joked, nudging him in the ribs. 

Morse tried to plaster a smile on his face but it felt brittle. How had he gotten himself into this?

Joyce was waiting outside the county offices when they arrived. She didn’t look anywhere near as concerned about his lateness as the other assembled guests. When she pulled him into a brief hug she whispered into his ear, “I knew you’d never stand him up.”

Morse tried to smile again but once more it felt awkward. His heart was racing, his whole body was far too hot for the confines of a smart suit. He pulled at his collar. Mrs Thursday slapped his hand away. Every instinct in him was screaming at him to run. What was he doing? He couldn’t possibly go through with this. He was sure to mess it up after all.

Then the crowd parted and he saw him. Across the room, Peter, surrounded by his own little cluster of family, was having his own tie straightened. Their eyes met and the breath he had been holding left Morse’s body abruptly. 

Peter smiled at him. That quiet, unassuming, smile that he loved so much. Nothing like the more flashy side of his personality that he was always showing off. Peter smiled like that just for him, only for him, and whenever he saw it he _knew._

Whenever Peter smiled like that he knew he was loved. He knew he had a family. He knew they had a home and a life together. 

He wound his way through the crowd. Several people tried to stop him to congratulate him, or fix his suit for the umpteenth time or something. He never really found out what exactly they wanted because he ignored them all. His entire focus was on the man before him, on Peter. 

When they were finally within reach of each other Peter reached out and took Morse’s hand, drawing him in close to his side. He gave a little smirk of amusement and leaned in to whisper in Morse’s ear. 

“You’re drunk.”

“I’ve had coffee.” Morse muttered back, trying in vain to keep his face from turning red.

Peter just laughed, winding their fingers together and pressing against his side so their arms were one unit.

“Trust us to be drunk on our wedding day.”

It took a moment for the phrasing of those words to sink in. “Wait, you’re-” He was cut off as the officiant opened the doors to the ceremony room and began ushering the guests in. 

It wasn’t a fancy ceremony so they didn’t have long, but so many of their guests took a moment to stop and say a few words of encouragement or congratulations in passing. Win grasped both their free hands with tears in her eyes again. Fred clapped them both on the shoulder. Joyce just winked.

Finally they were left alone in the room and Morse let out a sigh of relief. Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not thinking of changing your mind are you?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Then why do you look so worried?”

“I’m not worried. I’ve been waiting for this day for so long. Peter, you know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“The rest of _your_ life?” Peter queried, again with that raised eyebrow. Morse was beginning to feel distinctly ridiculous.

“Come on, we both know you’re much less disaster prone than I am.”

“Then what’s got you so worked up?” Peter said so gently that Morse finally recognised the genuine concern for what it was.

“Peter, I’m serious. I want to marry you. It’s just all this-” he waved his free hand around for emphasis, “it makes it so... _real._ ”

A member of staff came back through the doors and gave them an encouraging smile. “Peter and Endeavour? They’re ready for you now.” They turned back and opened the doors fully. The speakers began playing a tinny rendition of their chosen music.

Beside him Morse could feel Peter shaking with silent laughter. “Why are you laughing?” He whispered through gritted teeth. When Peter didn’t reply he tried to surreptitiously jab him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Alright!” Peter whispered back. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just I figured out what’s got you so… well, you.”

“Oh?” 

This had to be the strangest walk up the aisle. People were giving them funny looks.

“Your name. You realised everyone would have to hear your name.” Peter began laughing again.

“Remind me why I’m marrying you again?” 

“Because you love me, _Endeavour._ ”

Morse sighed dramatically.

They reached the officiant, who was trying not to look perplexed by their odd behaviour, and the music drew to a close.

Morse looked to the man at his side. He was right of course. He did love him. And if the price for being able to marry the man he loved was a room full of people finding out his name then it was worth it. 

Finally a genuine smile spread across his face. He was getting married. Peter was marrying him. They had the rest of their lives (or his life at least) to worry about the small things. They had all the time in the world.


End file.
